


She Who Would Be King

by mercurybard



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurybard/pseuds/mercurybard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was going through Kellerman's head when he spoke with the president.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Who Would Be King

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "The Message". Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break. I have a rather love/hate relationship with the show. Since I'm borrowing the characters for my own nefarious (but non-profit) purposes, I think we're in a "love" phase.

"Madam President," I call her; I can't help it. That had been our goal since the '80s, when it was just the two of us doing grassroots campaigning out of the back of her grandfather's VW van.

Once upon a time, I used to whisper that into her ear in our most intimate of moments.

Burrows is watching me. Watched me stew before flipping open the phone. He thinks I'm now speaking with a co-conspirator, someone that I'll join forces with to turn him and his brother in.

That's what she wants. She says she wants me back, that she's sorry, that she never meant to hurt me. Me, who has been with her since the beginning. Who never betrayed her, never disappointed her. Who was always there, right where she needed me to be.

Because I loved her that much.

The men I travel with would swear I'm incapable of such feelings. Burrows with his dead real estate lawyer girlfriend and Scofield with his inane crush on the prison doctor. They have never met Caroline in person, never had the opportunity to feel admiration for 'she who would be king', as Steadman put it.

It's a good description. We as Americans can't comprehend the sort of person it took to sit on the throne of an ancient monarchy. The sheer ruthlessness required to hold on to a crown or, in this case, an office. Caroline has it, in spades. Where most members of The Company would have sent a minion to do their dirty work, here she is calling me herself.

She likes to keep her hand in. She has such crafty hands.

I refuse to dance to her tune though, no matter how much it twists my stomach to think of where this road she's forcing me down will end—one or the other of us dead. Personally, past history aside, I would prefer she be the one to die.


End file.
